


Don't Tease

by TheHigglediestOfPigs



Category: Bright (2017)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Girl On Girl, Makeouts, Multi, Rough Sex, Sex Work, Slow Burn, Smut, Teasing, bad stage names, lap dance, lots of russians for some reason, pole dance, sex worker reader, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-17 01:40:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13648770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHigglediestOfPigs/pseuds/TheHigglediestOfPigs
Summary: Dorghu is hiring adult entertainment for his next party. He takes a special interest in your audition process. It's just business.





	1. Chapter 1

    "Welcome, ladies," Dorghu addresses the room from his seat, as you are ushered into the main hall. There's a tittering from within the group - those two, they couldn't shut up about how excited they were to be hired for a Fogteeth party. They were completely starstruck. Unprofessional.

    "I'm needing dancers for five stages, and some floor staff, to entertain the guests," Dorghu continues. "You all come highly recommended from my friends in the industry. I imagine I will see good things."

    He's looking over the lot of you - women of all kinds, dressed to impress, some of the best on the stage and the pole - and he's counting, and talking to the orc at his right hand. His eyes land on you, and you suppress the urge to shiver under his gaze - he radiates intensity. He looks you up and down, and you try to return eye contact, maintain your casual pose. This is the most intimidating job assessment of your life - he's an absolute giant both figuratively and literally.

    Those other human girls keep giggling.

    "You two," Dorghu grunts, finally taking his eyes off you. "How old are you?"

    "We're legal," the giggly pair laugh together, batting eyelashes at Dorghu and the others. It makes you wince. They most certainly are not, or at the very least _barely_ meet any kind of minimum requirement and have never been in the business before - either way, it makes it a game not worth playing.

    Their response doesn't seem to please Dorghu. He turns and murmurs something to the orc at his side, who gestures to the list in his hand vaguely, shakes his head to the boss. Dorghu sits up straight again.

    "Leave, I won't have you here getting yourselves in trouble just to say you crashed a party. I won't be responsible for that. Come back when you're invited."

    The crashers are escorted to the door, pouting. You hope they get home safe. You know you or one of the other dancers will have a talk with them whenever they happen to be spotted again.

    "Alright, Anatoly here will show the rest of you the venue, see about auditions and schedules," Dorghu says once they're gone. The orc with the list nods and waves to the group, and starts leading the group out the side of the hall. Dorghu calls out again. "You, I need a word."

    You look to see who he's referring to. His eyes are locked on you. It seems to stop you in your tracks, just the intensity of his gaze.

    The woman next to you exchanges a look with you, waits for you to nod before she starts to leave your side. She knows the business as well as you do - this could always go sour, you gotta trust your gut, and have an ally somewhere. You think you can handle yourself for now, Dorghu doesn't have that kind of reputation.

    You wait behind until everyone else has left. You look around the dimly candlelit space and its just you, and Dorghu.

    "What's your name, doll?" Dorghu asks, still looking at you the entire time, leaning on the armrest of his chair. It's a strange look - you think you've seen every way that a man can appraise and leer and "appreciate," but though a lot of this is the same, something about Dorghu is different. Behind his intensity, there's something else.

    "Violet Skye," you give your stage name. He smirks in appreciation.

    "Nice one. Would you like me to call you Violet? Or Miss Skye?"

    "Either works for me," you say. "What can I do for you, Mr. Dorghu?"

    "Just Dorghu," he says, taking a drag on his cigarette before putting it out at his feet, leaning again on his armrest. "I was given your name, told I would like you. I think I do already, Violet. Would you give me a private dance for your audition? I have cash on me, of course."

    Special attention. Not usually a good sign from most, but from Dorghu, it could have a lot of potential.

    "What kind of dance did you have in mind?"

    He gestures his big hands to the empty hall.

    "I unfortunately don't have a pole in here. We could go elsewhere, but I don't think that would suit you," he says, looking knowingly to the door your concerned colleague had disappeared through. So, at least he can read a girl right. He looks back to you, waiting patiently for your response.

    "If you want a private dance, here's fine." The pole makes it fancy, but is not necessary for a good performance. They just want to watch you move. You take a look at where he's sitting beneath the massive tree of antlers. You also could do a lap dance for him, make a deep impression. The armrests of the chair might be an issue, but he's huge - you likely wouldn't reach anything else if you were in his lap. It's kind of an exciting proposition, the idea of climbing onto his thick frame. "I have something in mind. Can I have the cash?"

    Dorghu chuckles. "Business first. I can appreciate that."

    He pulls a wad of bills from inside his jacket, and he counts out a few and holds them out between two thick fingers. You step forward to take the offered pay. Glancing at the bills in your hand, you realize he's handed you multiple hundreds, far above the typical for one dance. You can't help but raise your eyebrows at him, but he just sits back, eyes still on your face as he smiles. It's not an unkind smile. He's obviously used to throwing this kind of cash around. Its just generosity, you think. You compose yourself, try to stand proudly and casually even though you're now just a couple steps away from where he sits. He really is intimidating, with his size and all those scars across his face.

    "Club rules apply here: keep your hands to yourself. Do you have music, or...?"

    He takes out his phone, opens the music app, hands it to you.

    "Hopefully something there suits you..."

    It's interesting, the eclectic nature of his music library. Must come with the territory of being such a frequent host to as many people as he is. You wonder what he doesn't put on his phone. Standing this close, you hear his breathing, a low grunt in his throat - he's clearly still looking at you. You can almost feel his gaze on your body.

    Settling on something slow and heavy, you hit play and the song comes over speakers somewhere in the room. His smile spreads a little further over his lips, his approval obvious as he takes his phone back.

    You make sure the money is tucked safely into your own jacket before you take it off, just a little slowly, letting it be part of the show. Dorghu's eyes flicker briefly as he sees your strappy little black dress. You turn your eyes away, sultry and coy, really just to avoid him seeing a reaction on your face. Between the cool air of the room hitting your bare shoulders and chest, and the heat of his stare, your nipples start to harden under the thin fabric of the dress, and there's a fluttering in your stomach. This doesn't usually turn you on this much, as you do it so often just for business, but you find that you like the idea of this massive and rough orc enjoying you, being kept at just enough distance. You try to ignore the little jolt it gives you when he hums his approval. 

    Dropping your jacket off to the side, you start to swing your hips to the beat, still not looking directly at him. The chair creaks a little as he shifts and leans back, watching your body sway in front of him. He sets his feet apart, and you know it means he's swelling already at the sight of you. You use that to your advantage, raising your eyes to him now, a little smirk playing on your lips, your expression to let him know you understand the exact effect it has on him. It's a good distraction from your own response...

    Running your hands over your own body, you turn in front of him, letting him get a look at your backside. You look down over your shoulder at him. He looks pleased, watching the movements of your bottom, the writhing and twisting of your waist. When he looks up, your gaze returned to him draws another smirk out of him. The look in his eyes changes to hunger as you run your hands over your hips, tugging gently at your dress, the hem lifting slightly to show more of your thighs. You bite your lip as you turn around. He groans softly, looking back up at your face - good. He knows you're teasing him.

    You step forward cautiously, eyeing his hands. He's got them on the armrests, and when you draw closer he grips them tighter. He's trying to behave himself.

    Tentatively, you place a hand on one of his thick shoulders to support yourself, then you balance one shin and then the other across each of his thighs. He looks at your legs, up your belly, over your chest - you lean back, gripping his jacket, to give him the view, his yellow eyes lingering luxuriously on every curve. He doesn't budge under the added weight of you at all.

    The tip of his tongue darts out to lick at his lips, his breathing is heavy. His tusks glint in the flickering lights from the room. You feel an unexpected thought creep into your head, picturing yourself leaning forward to lick at his lips yourself, brush your lips against his tusks, hold yourself just out of reach and not let him close the gap for a kiss until he's had enough of your teasing... You shake the thought loose, but not before it causes you to take a shuddering breath in, your chest heaving.

    Dorghu doesn't miss it, another hum of approval as he watches your breasts under the dress, it barely holding them in. You sit up and bring your hands out to his forearms to check his hands are still where they should be on the armrests.

    "I'm being good, Ms Skye," he chuckles. "No matter how tempting you are... Promise."

    He looks you in the eyes at the last word, serious even as he glowers with desire. You look carefully at his angled face, and can't help but admire the scars crossing the side of his head. What could that feel like under your hands? Another jolt through your body.

    He might be following the rules, but you realize getting close may have been a mistake as he takes a sniff in the air. There is no way you won't start to smell of your own arousal soon, if you don't already. He slowly grins, but says nothing, drawing his eyes down your body again.

    Trying to keep your breathing even, you continue your lap dance for him. He's so big - you raise yourself up fully on your knees and his eye level is only just below your chest. You bring your hands up into your hair, tousling it into a playfully messy state, and continue to gyrate your hips as you sink slowly back down, bringing your body close to his face as you do. His breath falls hot against you, especially against your chest. You can hear him scenting you again.

    As you bring your hands back down, caressing yourself as you do, the drop of your shoulders causes one of the straps of your dress to fall. The hunger returns to his eyes and he licks at his lips again. There's a sound like he might be squeezing the armrests a little harder, the leather of his jacket sleeves creaking. You might like this predicament you have him in. The strap will stay where it is for now. 

    You drop your hands onto his thighs, carefully stretch each leg out behind you, holding your whole body taut with just your hands on his legs and your toes on the floor. Controlling with your arms, you slide your toes back on the floor, core held tight, bringing your body down between his knees, close to him but not touching. His clothes smell like smoke but you can smell him too, the deep musk, the remnants of some cologne.

    You drag yourself forward again and press slowly up the way you came, until you're almost chest to chest with him. Your face is mere inches from his. Those yellow eyes are full of fire now, regarding you with awe at your smooth movement, the control. They flicker towards the strap of your dress, fallen even lower. You might have a tit out in a moment. Thinking about his response so far, and how sexy it makes you feel, that might not be so bad. He licks his lips again, and you can't help but do the same for your own. 

    Getting your feet back under yourself, you put the heel of your hand onto the seat of the chair between his legs, making him shift backwards a little, move his legs apart a little further. He watches you carefully as you turn yourself around to get your shins back on his thighs, backwards this time. With your bottom hovering over his lap, you hear a groan escape him as you writhe and dance for him. When you lean backwards towards him, you can feel him scent you between your shoulders and sigh against your skin.

    The sensation against your back sends another bolt of electricity through your core, and you start to lose your balance. You topple forward.

    Strong hands grab your shoulders and pull you back, and you find yourself pressed against Dorghu's broad chest, an arm slung around you hastily to keep you still. Your heart races from the sudden startle, and you breathe heavily for a moment, trying to recover. His tusks are gently poking at your shoulder.

    You feel his free hand move the thin strap of your dress back onto your shoulder, his thick fingers gentle on your arm. He places the hand on the back of your neck carefully. It's hot and heavy on your flesh.

    "You alright?" he grunts. You realize you're shaking under his arm.

    "I'm okay." You tap his forearm with one hand, and he lets go so you can get up, keeping the other hand against your back until you're steadied. You straighten out your dress and your hair.

    "That doesn't usually happen," you say. It occurs to you that you don't actually know if that was about the falling, or something else.

    "I imagine not," Dorghu says. He sits up straight, adjusts his jacket. There's a brief silence between the two of you before he continues. "So. I think I am satisfied."

    He gets out of the chair with creaking of wood and leather, stoops to pick up your jacket from where you left it. He towers over you as he steps forward to give it back.

    "Thanks," you murmur.

    "Thank _you_ ," he says earnestly. You catch each others eyes again, and he's looking at you steadily, the heat from his eyes much less than before. "I look forward to having you at the party. You can join the others if you'd like, Anatoly should give you a tour."

    "Sure," you say. It's hard to tell how you feel about this. He obviously liked your performance, but the tumble you almost took cooled him off considerably. It kind of hurts your feelings, embarrasses you. But he's just another client, you tell yourself. It happens.

    You try not to think of the feeling of his hands, the rough fingertips brushing your arm to put your dress strap back on, the way his arm squeezed you to his body. You put your jacket on, and head out the door, turning back at the last moment.

    He's still watching you go as he lights himself another smoke.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You make some friends. Dorghu won't get out of your head.

Anatoly leads you through the space, a condensed tour, pointing out the stages and the bar. Throughout the normally open floor they'd established three long open stages, and two more with some heavy curtains, for guests with a little more clout and cash for their own private reservations. There are booths around the edge of the rooms as well, red leather, cozy looking. A good entertaining space.

"You have any experience carrying drinks?" Anatoly asks, with a slight Slavic accent.

"Yeah. Waitressed before this," you reply. He nods, his eyes smiling. For an orc he's more handsome by human convention, his features smoother and his tusks interfering less with his mouth, but scars on his nose and ears tell you he definitely belongs to the Fogteeth; you know a boxer when you see one, and he shouldn't be underestimated. He's regarding you with some interest, which should be obvious - you're an exotic dancer - but complicated by the particular attention his boss had just shown you. You smile politely to him, and he continues leading you through the space.

He shows you to where the change rooms are. The other girls are there, choosing lockers for the event, chatting about what they would like to wear, what they hope the playlist for the night is like, swapping worst client stories. You wander in, sit on one of the benches and try to relax.

"Hey," you feel a hand on your shoulder, and its the woman from before who'd offered without words to have your back. "You alright?"

You nod. She sits down next to you. Getting a closer look at her in the lights from the vanities behind you, she has very smooth olive skin, and long, glossy dark hair. You can see glittering scales at her hairline, growing up behind her ears and down her elegant neck.

"I'm Kara," she says, offering you a hand. You give her your own hand - her grip is gentle, warm - and tell her your first name. She smiles gently at you.

"What did Dorghu want?"

"Just an audition, a private dance."

"Oh!" She looks relieved for you, that it wasn't anything too onerous. "How'd that go?"

You tell her how you almost face-planted out of Dorghu's lap, and she stifles a giggle behind a manicured hand. You can't help but chuckle too. Some of the others are listening, and the room erupts in more stories of embarrassing blunders - heels that broke, accidental elbows in faces.

"I wouldn't worry about it," Kara says. "It happens."

"Yeah, that's what I told myself, it's just... Dorghu's kind of a big deal. The party's kind of a big deal."

"You're still here though, I'm sure you'll get the chance to make another impression..."

"Pretty sure its his guests he's worried about us entertaining," the orc on your other side chimes in. Kara nods.

"I guess it is," you say, not all that reassured. Your nerves are starting to calm, but you can't shake the feeling of something about to happen.

Anatoly calls into the room, he wants you all out there for auditions and scheduling in five.

"He says we're all pretty much in, the auditions are just about knowing where to put us," Kara tells you. You frown to yourself. What was the point of Dorghu's little show then? He had been told he would "like" Violet Skye, was that all? Of course he hadn't exactly picked you by name... A coincidence? You decide to ruminate on it a little more later.

You and Kara take lockers next to each other and you put your coat away, listening to more of the cheery conversation around you. When you get a turn at a vanity you check your makeup, run your fingers through your hair. Kara appears behind you in the mirror, her second eyelids blinking briefly over her dark eyes.

"You look great, cutie," she says.

"Yeah, give me a turn," says the orc woman, Anya. "I've gotta retie my scarf or someone's going to lose an eye."

The three of you exit the change rooms together with the others, chatting and laughing. Anatoly is sitting at the end of one of the long stages, and beckons for the group to sit in the other chairs.

"Ok I'll call you and you'll give me a couple minutes each. Let me see what you can do, give me a range if at all possible, but most of all, I want to see you lovelies have fun." He grins around at all of you.

It _is_ a lot of fun to watch the other girls work. There's all kinds of you there - there's another half-Brezzik besides Kara, some orcs, a few fae looking girls, and some humans.

Anya is called up as Madonna Cream to cheers and hoots of laughter from all, and she swaggers up to the pole, swings herself around it with stunning athleticism. It wasn't a joke about her headwrap, she can fucking spin. She can also climb it to the very top, slide down it upside-down, hanging on with just her thighs and stop herself inches from the floor, her eyes locked on your judge - Anatoly looks thoroughly impressed, beaming at her. You expect to see him at the party lined up with all the other thirsty Fogteeth boys. She'll be an immediate hit.

Kara is called up as Miss Missy Splendid - her style is more burlesque, cheeky and slow. Turns out she has a tail tucked under the tiny sequin skirt she's wearing, and she uncurls it playfully as she shakes her hips, makes a show of it, uses it to flash her cute bottom. Anatoly makes note on his clipboard excitedly.

You're all cheering each other on, someone calls out "yas, girl," and "fucking crush it," more than once. Anatoly is clearly more than casually interested in the women in front of him, but he is intently taking feedback from those sitting around him, about the music he puts on for the auditions, what will work and what won't. His prevailing concern is the presentation, and his respect for you as performers is obvious. He's charming. Dorghu picked the right guy for the job.

It's Violet Skye's turn on the stage, so you get to your feet and climb up. Kara and Anya cheer the loudest for you.

You've kind of developed a style that looks a lot like you're pleasing yourself more than anyone else - people become hypnotized by your hands moving over your own body, the way you use the beats of the music as your lover, when you move your hips like a good fuck.

Anatoly is amused, leaning on one elbow much like Dorghu had when he'd first looked at you today, regarding you with similar awe and restraint. It's a bit distracting to think about, so you focus on your moves, letting your eyes close. You lean against the pole, slide down with your hands above your head, writhing. You get a little lost in the music, grinding your back into the pole as you feel yourself over your dress, down your own thighs.

It's no wonder, then, that you look up and Dorghu has appeared behind Anatoly without you even noticing he's entered the room.

Your face flushes and you spin around quickly to hide it, putting your hands on the pole to steady yourself. Lucky, you don't lose the rhythm. You keep your hips moving, do a little arm work on the pole so you can hover and move your legs sensually in midair. This will work for now. You try very hard to compose yourself. You wonder if its Dorghu's eyes you can feel on your spine or just your own nerves.

When you do turn around again, Dorghu is leaned over Anatoly, saying something in the smaller orc's ear.

Something clamps down on your gut - why isn't he looking at you? Not even Anatoly is paying attention. You don't know why, but you know you want to make that big fucker Dorghu look, so you do the first thing that comes to mind, and start to hike your black dress up around your hips.

As your deep red lace panties come into view, theres a few whoops from your colleagues, and the orcs glance up. Anatoly grins, starts to make a comment to Dorghu, but Dorghu claps a heavy hand on his shoulder, shutting him up. Anatoly blinks at the hand suddenly on his shoulder, then smirks to himself as he turns his eyes back to you.

Satisfaction seeps through you as Dorghu's jaw sets, his eyes locked on the flash of colour at your pelvis. There it is, that hunger. You feel the shake in your thighs, the twisting in your belly.

You smile breathlessly as you keep dancing, and as he stands there, taking a drag on his smoke, he locks his eyes on yours. Despite his poise he looks only just restrained, like he could come barreling at you any moment, snatch you up in his arms, take you anywhere he wanted. It's the fact that he doesn't, that he won't, that's got you so heated. What word from you would change it, you wonder? What would it be like, to be drawn up in those big arms, taken by him? The mental image, of those big hands closing around your thighs, lifting you and tossing you to bed, his huge body crawling over you... You shake that thought loose - dangerous thinking, that. Don't get swept up in a client. Where is this even coming from?

Time to cut yourself off.

You turn around for a while more, give a little flourish on the pole so at least Anatoly knows what you can do, before you slide your skirt back down and take a bow, avoiding looking at anyone now. Some of the girls play at pouting, "aww, nah," and "oh, c'mon!" a couple of them shout as a gag.

"It's called a strip _tease_  for a reason, bitches," you scoff, getting your ass of the stage, the girls cackling and clapping. You sit back down with Anya and Kara, relieved to be off your feet. Your legs were going to give out at any moment, you were sure, not from any particular exertion.

Kara asks if you are alright, you nod without looking at her - you'd see Dorghu over her shoulder, and you're pretty sure you couldn't take it anymore, the way he radiates desire, the way he draws it out of you like his own gravitational field. Anya sniffs the air around you.

"Oh, girl," she says, shaking her head. You blush when you catch her eye - she knows, she fucking knows. She pats your back comfortingly. "Hey, it's good, no judgement."

"What?" says Kara, with a confused frown. Anya glances towards Dorghu, back to you. Kara follows where she's looking, and tentatively you turn your eyes up carefully.

Dorghu's still there at Anatoly's shoulder. He's not looking at you directly, but you get the sense you're in his periphery, and you can't suppress a shiver. Your suspicion is confirmed, as his eyes flicker towards you at the tremble in your legs, before back to the floor, taking a long drag on his cigarette after. Kara sees all of this.

"Oh, oh my," Kara says, turning with a startled grin. "Well... the party will be interesting then?"

You sit in silence, wondering how you're gonna keep your shit together when you've got to entertain all night in Dorghu's venue, when he can be walking up at any moment to get you with those eyes, the littlest flex of his jaw. You feel another flutter in your gut. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to work on the next bit, let it be just kind of a bridge between the previous scene and the Fogteeth party, however I feel like I ended up rushing this part a bit. If you have any ideas how I can make this more of an appropriate teaser or just make it richer in general, I'm up for feedback at any time!


	3. Chapter 3

    As it turns out, Dorghu gives everyone some space on the night-of, and he's nowhere to be seen when you start on the floor. It's like any other night at your usual bar - flirting and chatting with the guests, getting tips for table dances and playing waitress while waiting your turn for the stage.

    Kara was asked to be the opening act, and she brought her massive feather fans. Other than that, she's only wearing a g-string that looks more like delicate jewelry, and stilettos. Despite the near-completeness of her nudity, her performance is a slow torture, warming up the crowd, little peeks at a time through the feathers. She's elegant, dramatic and classical.

    You in contrast went more metal - you'd cut up an Amon Amarth tee into a halter, knowing they and their contemporaries played at Dorghu's many times before, and it would likely be appreciated and earn you higher tips if any of their fans were there. You tied it on over a mesh crop top, and wore black panties that showed under a tiny pair of absolutely shredded jean shorts, finishing off with a killer pair of ankle boots. It's fun to be bringing drinks to the flock around Kara's table, with her old school glamour versus your edgy look.

    You bring shots to the tall Brezzik male completely entranced by her at the end of the stage. His forked tongue is flicking excitedly at the air, and he barely notices you, nodding politely as he takes his drinks but nothing more. When Kara comes to his end of the table, holding her fans across her body back and front, she flicks her own matching tongue to him playfully.

    He starts waving a generous tip to her, so she moves both fans behind her back like they're wings, giving him an eyeful as she sways her hips. She is lovely, a smattering of glittering scales between and below her breasts, her skin smooth and glowing bronze in the stage lights. There's a chorus of whistles from everyone lucky enough to see before she swings the fans back around to cover herself again. She winks at you as she collects her tips, and you give her an impressed smirk before you leave with your empty tray.

 

    Anatoly is behind the bar checking up on stock, and he grins when you return for another round.

    "Seen our boss yet?" he leans in for you to hear him over the music. You try to set your face into something neutral, but you're blushing as you shake your head no. His grin gets wider.

    "That's too bad. He's missing out," he says, looking you up and down.

    The drink orders are placed in front of you and you start putting them on your tray in a hurry, trying to avoid Anatoly's pointed stare.

    "Oh, hey, hey," he says, trying to catch your eye again. "I don't mean to tease! You look great, is all!"

    You manage to look back at him, and he's softened his eyes, his smile gentler on his lips even around those menacing tusks.

    "Thanks," you manage. He really is pretty charming. 

    "Maybe if he doesn't show, you can let _me_ be the V.I.P. instead, huh?" he smiles.

    "But Anatoly!" you say, getting your cool back with a breath. "You _are_ the V.I.P., why did you think you were so busy?"

    He rumbles a laugh, and you go on your way with the drinks. Honestly, though, you probably would save a dance for him if he really asked - he's tall and lean, and that accent really adds something. He'd be fun, if only it didn't feel like he had some kind of dirt on you, if whenever his boss' name came up his eyes didn't immediately wander to you knowingly.

    Anya is entertaining in one of the booths, cozied up to one of the guests, and when you get there with the order, she pulls you into her lap, helps you pass out the drinks to the group at the table.

     "Violet, these nice young men are just too many for me! Why don't you help me give them the attention they deserve?" she pouts at you and cuddles you to her chest, as she gestures to the orcs and humans in the booth with her, all of them looking eager. She's got some tips tucked into her bra already.

    "Sharing the wealth," she whispers to you so they can't hear, her tusks grazing your ear gently.

    You laugh and crawl your way into the lap of the fourth guy in the booth, stretch your legs out over the other three. Nobody lays a hand on you, and it's odd until you happen to glance up at the wall - you notice there's been signs put up around the room that weren't there before, detailing a No Touching policy. An odd change; it had initially been your understanding that this was going to be a little more fast and loose, a party in a crime boss' back yard more than an established scene.

    You start to wonder if Dorghu had requested the change after your little audition in his main hall - you'd been the one to enforce the rules then, out of your own apprehension. It gives you goosebumps to imagine him saying something like... if _he_ can't lay a hand on you... You shake yourself out of it, feeling ridiculous. But the orc you're sitting on says something to you and you quickly lose yourself in conversation, flirting and laughing with the guests and Anya.

 

    By the time Dorghu does finally show himself, you've helped Anya take that and one other table for all they've got, sending them home with grins on their faces and booze-addled strides. Now you're back at the bar communicating another order, and you feel his giant presence at your side. Your breath catches in your throat, and you hold very still, trying not to jump out of your skin. The effect he has on you seems amplified by his previous conspicuous absence.

    He leans across the bar top, placing his hands wide to support his weight. The hand planted right in front of you makes you bite your lip involuntarily, your eyes flickering over the blue patterns, and the old fight scars on his knuckles.

    "How are we doing tonight?" he asks Anatoly, not looking at you. Anatoly grins at him, grabbing a glass and pouring him a drink.

    "Doin' great, boss, people are happy!"

    "Good. Knew they would be," Dorghu grunts, and he shoots a glance at you as he raises the whiskey to his jagged mouth. "People behaving themselves, Ms Skye?"

    "So far," you reply, meeting his eyes. You try to avoid thinking about the watering in your mouth as you watch him savour that drink. "Why do you ask?"

    He shrugs his thick shoulders, turns away from you again.

    "It was brought to my attention there are typical club rules that I'd been overlooking... Didn't want to be that guy, letting his place fall to shit because the staff aren't looked after the way they should be."

    "Well," you say, taken aback by the response. "It certainly makes things simpler around here... Thank you, I guess."

     "Don't, doll," he shakes his head. He's not playing humble, there's something uncomfortable about his expression; he might have genuinely felt bad not to have thought of it. You feel a little foolish and even a little guilty for your earlier fantasy that it was about his own desires, about yours.

    With a nod as he drops the glass back on the bar top, he lumbers off to deal with his guests. You're left feeling like something else should have happened.

    Anatoly is leaning across the bar to you, taking a scent of the air. You snap your head in his direction and glare at him.

    "Hey," he chuckles, throwing his big hands up defensively. "Just wanted to live a little vicariously. Doll."

    You don't think you're as charmed by Anatoly anymore. You stalk off to find something else to do, and think he better not be there when you get back.  
    

  
    You're almost calmed down when Kara and Anya find you in the middle of your rounds.

    "Hey girl, we're requested in the private booth at the back," Kara grins.

     "The three of us?" you ask with a chuckle. Anya nods, tusks gleaming with her smirk. "Nice! Yeah sure, just let me finish up this last order?"

    "Oh don't worry about that. I flagged Anatoly, he'll send someone," Kara says, and drops your tray on the nearest table for you, taking your hand. She leans in and whispers to you, sending a shiver up your spine. "It's Dorghu's request."

    The three of you head to the furthest curtained booth, your hand still trembling with anticipation in Kara's, Anya leading the way. She parts the curtain, and greets the inhabitants in Bodzvokhan - three deep voices answer.

    As you enter the booth, Dorghu is sitting at the bend of the U-shaped bench, arms stretched out along the back, taking up space with his girth. The men to either side of him, both with tawny hair and stubble over gaunt faces, look like typical white humans until they smile - half-orcs. The teeth are unmistakable even in smaller scale, and can't be hidden anymore once the lips stretch at all, never mind in these wide grins.

    "Ladies, I'm pleased you could join us," Dorghu says smoothly. "Fellas, this is Missy Splendid, Madonna Cream, and Violet Skye. I've asked them to be our hosts for the evening."

    The half-orcs nod their greetings, still grinning those sharp grins.

    "A pleasure," says the younger of the two, with a thick accent. As he turns his head to look around you can see the faint blue patches in the skin of his neck. He speaks to his companion across the table in what you guess is Russian. The three men continue a conversation, Dorghu in Bodzvokhan, the others in Russian, as if it were all the same.

    Kara helps you up onto the small stage, Anya hopping up lithely behind you. There's enough room for the three of you if you stagger yourselves - you end up front and center, at the end of the platform where Dorghu sits.

    He's sprawled on the bench, his jacket tossed over the backrest behind him. His mottled biceps stretch the sleeves of his black t-shirt to what seems to be their limit. You can't help but look him up and down, the way he fills out that shirt wreaking havoc on your filthy mind. This certainly pleases him, as soon as he notices your eyes on him he's shifting his weight and easing his legs further apart again. You bite your lip and start to move for him, hands running up your own hips, making his eyes follow. They're exact on your movements, patient, studying.

    You take that power on gleefully, and trail your fingers everywhere you want his attention - across your belly at the waist of your underwear, up your chest squeezing your breasts gently as you go. Your nipples harden, start to poke through the mesh top you're wearing under the halter, and you can feel it as you move. You throw your head back and caress your own throat, peering down at him over your cheekbones. His upper lip twitches, the tip of his tongue running over his teeth briefly - you mirror with your own tongue. More images creep into your mind - pinned to a bed, those tusks dangerously close to your pulse as he breathes deeply, yellow eyes dilated to extreme. You kissing at the scarred side of his brow, crying out hoarsely to him...

    Focus, you tell yourself.

    You can't.

    You bring your hands back down your body, bring your bottom down to sit on your heels in a squat. Staring right at him, you run your hands down the tops of your legs to your knees, back up your inner thighs as you slowly part them, daring him to make that face now, daring your own mind to go _there_. Dorghu tilts his head back like he's feeling something sudden, his chest heaving slowly. He's inhaling deeply through his nose, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly. There's a twitch and a heat in you when you realize what he's reacting to, and you hope he smells that too.

    The other two are kept entertained by your companions for a few moments more, but one says something to the others, getting a chuckle out of the other half-orc. Dorghu looks briefly irritated at the interruption, but nods, saying something in return, before turning to you and the other dancers.

    "My friends think it would be nice if you ladies collaborated a little more," he growls.

    Anya, who understood before you did, has already pulled you to your feet, and she presses her body close behind you, brushing her hands up your arms slowly, resting her chin on your shoulder.

    Kara comes around in front of you, making eyes at one and then the other of the flanking men, while she lowers herself slowly onto her knees down your body, flicking her forked tongue towards your skin at your belly. She looks up at you, waiting for your response, and you nod. She makes contact, the thin ends of her tongue tickling at your stomach, and she puts a hand on each of your thighs, caressing you gently. Anya is grinding into your backside, with an arm around your shoulders almost posessively, and she growls at your neck, glowering over your shoulder at Dorghu.

    You look up at him and he is absolutely smouldering at the sight of you between these two. Reaching one hand up to caress Anya's face, you turn yours toward her, parting your lips in a suggestive pout. You lock eyes, and she understands.

    She gives you a deep, messy kiss, her tusks pressing against your cheeks. You feel her hand kneading into your side, and you put your hand over it to drag it up to one of your breasts instead. She obliges enthusiastically, her tongue still in your mouth. You hear an "oohf" of a pleased groan from one of Dorghu's guests. Dorghu isn't making a sound - you look back to him, your lipstick starting to feather and smear, and his mouth is hanging open slightly. With a shake of his head he seems to realize you're looking at him again, and he licks his lips more slowly this time, eyes on your mouth. Damn right, you think, smirking.

    You look down at Kara and she has been looking at Dorghu over her shoulder. When she turns back, she gives you a wink before she starts tugging you by the belt loops on your shorts, and turns you around, so your back is to the end of the stage. She pulls you down to join her on your knees, and wraps her arms around you, puts her face up close to your ear.

    "Halter off?" she whispers.

    "Fuck yeah," you croak back. Fuck this is going to be hot. You certainly hope Dorghu thinks so. Anya is still dancing behind Kara, bending forward to hold onto her shoulders, shaking her ass, and you watch her while Kara holds you, goes to her task.

    She starts undoing the ties of your halter top, taking her time, running her hands up your back over the mesh tee and into your hair, down to your bottom to give a playful squeeze. The Russians cheer and laugh.

    "Kiss!" one cries. You oblige, kissing needfully at Kara's beautiful pout, nipping at her lips with your teeth, putting your hands into her long hair. More applause. It's hard to tell over the music, but you think you hear a low rumbling from Dorghu as you part from Kara, breathless.

    When she's gotten the ties undone, she tosses your shirt over your shoulder to Dorghu. You feel her push you onto your back, and you look upside down at Dorghu behind you. He's looking over you carefully, eyes flickering over your chest under the netting of your crop top, and you see that he has caught your discarded halter in one hand, twisting it in his fingers. His other hand, still stretched out to his side on the back of the bench, is opening and clenching slowly, as if he's trying to shake a sensation in his palm.

    Kara puts her hands under your waist, tugs at you gently to tilt your hips toward her as she crawls between your knees. As you arch your back the mesh top pinches and tugs at your nipples exquisitely. Between that and the pressure of Kara's body between your legs, you can't stifle the moan, no matter how hard you bite your lips.

    "Out," Dorghu grunts.

    Kara stops where she is, tongue extended, just about to lick at one of the nipples poking through the net of your top. Flicking it back into her mouth, she looks down at you, up to Anya behind her, back to Dorghu. Dorghu grunts again. "Violet, stay where you are. The four of you. Out."

    Kara exchanges a look with you like the first time you met, and you nod to her from your place on your back. She nods back, blinking her deep dark eyes at you with a reassuring smile before she turns to get off the stage. The Russians grin at each other, and they each help one of the others off the stage. They all disappear through the curtain.

   Tilting your head back again, you look at Dorghu upside down. He's still exactly where he was, your flimsy top wrapped in his fingers. He starts to lean forward, and you bring your hands to cover your chest reflexively, ducking your chin and flinching away from him slightly.

    "Easy, doll," he purrs. "I'm not going to touch you."

    Why not?

     _Focus_.

    You bring your eyes back to him again slowly. He's putting his elbows on his knees, settling in, and he holds the fabric you wore to his face, turning into it as he breathes deeply, eyes closing in bliss. Your thighs start to shake and you have to press them together, the deep heat between them a terrible pleasure. You drop your hands to your sides, press your fingertips into the floor of the stage, trying to ground yourself.

    "What do I smell like?" you find yourself asking, immediately regretting the intimacy of the question. His eyes fly open, volcanic as they find your flesh again, trying to take all of you in at once.  

    "You really want to know?"

    You nod, your stomach fluttering. A smile plays on his lips.

    "I'll tell you if you dance for it."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a content note on this chapter for creepy dudes, threats, and actual violence.

    "Dance? Oh, you mean what I was doing before you sent everyone else away?" you tease him, wriggling yourself a little closer to the end of the stage. You hang your head back to get a better look at him, exposing your throat, let your arms hang off the platform towards him.

    "Just wanted some privacy."

    His nostrils are flaring as he looks at your throat stretched lazily before him, and you can see the muscles twitching in his cheeks under the scars, tongue not staying still in his mouth. Your pulse quickens. Yeah, he looks like he needs some privacy.

    "You could've given me a little more time, though, I was enjoying that," you pout, batting your eyelashes in mock hurt.

    "I know you were," he chuckles, turning his amber eyes back to yours.  

    "You sure like fucking with me, don't you," he continues. Your pretense at displeasure falters, the look in his eyes electric to your core. Your mind races, guessing what got to him the most. Seeing Anya with her arms around you, the possessive way another orc kissed you? Kara getting to undress you, taste your skin, even just a little? The sheer fact that your own pleasure was obvious, some hands on you at last, and he was sitting back here trapped in his own pants?

    "Don't take it personally - it's my job to fuck with you," you reply, your voice husky, trying to pretend your heart isn't racing in your throat. On a whim, you lift your legs into the air, crossed at the ankles like a pinup model. His eyes are drawn to your movement; he takes his time admiring you from toes to hips, low appreciative murmurs in his throat. You imagine you can feel the heat of his gaze on your skin, the trails his eyes leave like brands.

    "You are very, very good at your job," he snorts, a deep chuckle escaping him. Your proud smile is genuine.

    With his eyes off your face, you do some admiring of your own. Even in softened lights, his face is full of stark shadows under his heavy brow and the cliffs of his cheekbones, and the deep scars are even more like canyons in his skin. The line of his jaw is stretched above you, and it gives you a full view of the patterns from his chin, down his thick neck, into the collar of his shirt. He's so close, you could easily reach up to where he leans over you, grab him by his mangled ear and pull him down to a kiss, pull him toward your neck, your breast, feel those scars while he gets a good lick in. He'd get those tusks tangled in the mesh of your shirt, you'd let him tear himself loose...

     The images spin on in your head, getting a bit carried away. You try to ground yourself again, focus on the sensations you're actually experiencing. His breath cascades over your skin, down your chest, the faint smell of whiskey within the rest of that scent that is so very him. Its intoxicating, being this close, made all the more potent by your vulnerable position, the obvious trembling in your muscles.

    "So," you say, and you flip yourself over. You get your feet under you quickly, before you can think of anything else, and head for the pole further back on the stage.

    "Expecting anything in particular?" you ask, swinging yourself with one hand playfully around the pole to look back at him. "Since you've challenged me to earn an answer, and all."

    "Just you, doll," he says. His complement is kind of sexy but you pause, remembering Anatoly mocking you at the bar.

    "Could you call me something else?" you grimace.

    "Of course," Dorghu frowns. "Is something wrong?"

    "No, just... Anatoly ruined that one for me."

    His back stiffens, fists clenching.

    "What did he do?"

    "Nothing, he's just... annoying. Being an ass about the way you treat me."

    You duck your chin at the last statement, your cheeks warming. It feels strange to say the words out loud, admit to a 'treatment', admit that Dorghu should be just like any other client but he's not. The trouble is, you have no idea how special this special attention actually is, whether anything about this goes beyond a night's entertainment for him. The stakes feel high, but they could be nothing at all, you could pack up your tips at the end of the night and never see or hear from him again in any other context. That's not the comfort it usually would be.

    He seems to relax, though he's still not pleased, grinding his teeth a moment before he speaks again.

    "I'll talk to him, he shouldn't be giving you grief. What is it about the way I treat you?"

    "I mean... you singled me out when I got here. You don't ask the others for anything in particular... I don't know, there's probably some other idea he's gotten," you wave your hand vaguely. Truthfully, Dorghu turns you on with such ease, Anatoly could follow you around like a bloodhound if given opportunity, and Anatoly's "idea" is he thinks it's hilarious.

    "Do you want me to stop? I can back right off, give you your space," his tone is apologetic as he lowers his eyes, looking at the stage in front of him, turning your halter top over in his hands restlessly. "I know you're here to work, and if I'm drawing attention, if anybody's harassing you about it-"

    "No." Your honest interruption surprises you more than it does him, but you can't stand him acting like that. You want him hungry and eager. "No, I don't mind."

    The smile comes back to his face, the old scars folding on his cheeks, and you respond in kind.

    "Good," he says, bringing a hand to his mouth, rubbing his lip thoughtfully with his fingers. "Yeah, I'll come up with something new."

    You turn round the pole again casually before you start to climb it with hands and legs, the metal warming quickly as you grip hard. You look over your shoulder at Dorghu.

    "You sure you don't have any requests?"

    "I like letting you choose," he insists. "Your first idea when you got here was to climb into my lap."

    "Look how that ended," you mutter to yourself. He isn't supposed to hear you, but of course he does.

    "Too soon, I agree."  

    "How diplomatic of you."

    Remembering your near miss before he caught you is making it hard not to be anxious, especially as you're climbing a pole; you don't want to think about what else could go wrong.

    You especially don't want to think about your excitement at the simple way he'd touched you - what was he going to do, let you fall? It shouldn't be affecting you this much. You shake the thoughts off, bring yourself back to the matter at hand.

    "Sure you don't want to be the boss? Give me tips and have me do whatever you say?" you ask one more time, wiggling your behind at him from your place halfway up the pole. He chuckles.

   "I'll tip you for just about anything. The entertainment is more in the things I feel like saying when you do what you do.

    "Flatterer," you scoff, turning to the side, leaning back, posing gracefully as if you're seated in midair. A shiver draws up your spine, as you wonder what truly salacious things he's keeping to himself. "You don't say any of it. Maybe you should."

    "Maybe," he shrugs, toneless. You don't push the subject.

    With enough height, you suspend yourself just with the tension between your thighs, letting your hands off, arching your back and hanging upside down to grip near the base of the pole instead, a taut curve from toes to fingers. The stretch in your abdomen feels so good, sensations heightened by the pull of your tight clothes against your skin. Carefully you redistribute your weight to your arms, so you can bring one leg forward to a split, reaching your toes in either direction like they're being pulled, every muscle firm with the effort.

    "Show-off," Dorghu huffs. You bark a laugh. You're just getting started.

    You take the time to show off some more on the pole, aerial and controlled, spinning and dazzling. It's hard work, you're starting to sweat well before the end, losing your breath a little more with each increasingly involved move.

    Throughout, you keep looking for his reaction, but Dorghu sits back casually, putting a heavy boot up on the edge of the stage, watching you closely but calmly. Occasionally he'll raise his eyebrows at a good catch, a controlled suspension, but he's otherwise unreadable. The only tell he has is your halter top in his hands - he squeezes and twists it, wraps and unwraps the ties around and between his speckled fingers. You can easily imagine what he wants to be doing with those hands, grabbing your shorts and yanking your body toward him, pulling your head back with a fistful of your hair. You close your eyes, keep turning, tumbling, not sure if you're dizzy from dancing or from your own fantasies.

    "Alright, you," Dorghu calls at the next song change. "I'm impressed, but I need you to come closer."

    "I thought I was in charge," you tease, but you're not going to decline. You let yourself slide down the pole to your feet, walk slowly, deliberately to the music with your hips swaying. Your already high pulse skips up further at just the thought of approach, the heat and the smell of sweat wafting from you. It has to be in his nose already, and will only get better up close, make him crave you more.

   You stand over Dorghu at the edge of the stage. Without taking his eyes off you he digs in his pocket, counts from a roll of bills and holds a few out to you.

    "Ah, that makes sense," you smirk.

    You turn and kneel with your back to him. With a finger you tug the waistband of your panties away from your back, just enough, and give him a look over your shoulder. He grins as you catch his eyes, teeth glinting.

    He still won't touch you, though his hand comes close - so painfully close. God, he is really taking those rules seriously, it's frustrating and comforting all at once. He is careful, his eyes flickering back and forth to watch your face and body for reaction, as he slips the money under the elastic. You let it go with a snap before you get down to your hands and knees, and get your face low to the floor.

    Propping yourself on one shoulder and twisting to look back at him past your thigh, you reach down and undo the button on your shorts. You slowly slide them off, revealing the thong cut of your undies. Dorghu's shifting in his seat, lips twitching, eyes locked to you as you're bent over in front of him, to the meeting of your trembling thighs. He lets out a strangled growl, dripping with lust and heat.

    "Say it," you command when he starts to chew his lip.

    "Just... Damn. I told you you have the best ideas."

    Grinning, you turn over and sit up, slide your bottom to the edge of the stage, and lean back on your hands behind you. You tuck one boot heel up close to your hip, and extend the other gently to rest on his thigh, making him jump to get his arms out of the way. He's not as unreadable as before - he's ecstatic, those yellow eyes brightened, he keeps licking his lips compulsively. But he sits back, folds his patterned, beefy arms across his chest.

  He rakes a luxurious trail up your leg with his eyes, lingering over every old scar or haphazard freckle, the shining stretch marks on your inner thigh, the crease of your hip. His pleasure at every detail is obvious. He takes a deep breath and lets go a rumbling sigh as he looks at your barely-covered sex displayed so carelessly in front of him, and he mutters something under his breath, Bodzvokhan, clearly on impulse.

   "What's that?"

    "I said you're beautiful, peach." He shifts in his seat, hand squeezing around your halter top. It's hard to think someone as rough and intimidating as Dorghu could be bashful, but he's definitely not meeting your gaze as directly as before.

    "Peach? Is that my new nickname?" You smother the other question you were going to ask with this one. He isn't the first to call you beautiful, but he doesn't have many peers that ever made you care if they meant it.

    "Mhmm..." he gives you a crooked smile, his yellow eyes almost twinkling. "Since you danced for me, I figured I better give you your answer.

   You blink, before laughing in surprise.

    "I do _not_ smell like peaches right now."

    "Maybe not to you," he chuckles. He looks down your leg again, falls quiet a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching. "It isn't the only thing you remind me of either. But you do smell very sweet."

    It makes your stomach do somersaults, to think there's more he's not telling you. You open your mouth to ask, but you stop yourself. There may be time yet.

    "Hm. Peach. I like it," you say instead.

    Taking your foot away, you sit up on the edge of the stage, lean on your hands between your thighs. You chew your lip in smug satisfaction when you see that it causes him some disappointment. But the disappointment fades quickly, his eyes lighting up again as he's looking at you, your fingers curled over the edge of the platform, the wrists hiding your scanty underwear, the way your breasts squeeze between your arms, the line of your throat, and up to catch your eyes. His nostrils flare and you feel the electricity start all over again.

    "Put that in your pocket," you nod to the shirt in his hand. "Sit back, put your arms on the bench again."

    He eagerly complies, tucking the shirt into his back jeans pocket before he settles into his seat again, everything creaking with his weight, and he extends his arms across the backrest, gripping hard on the leather.

    You step carefully to the floor between his feet, and he quickly shifts himself further back, setting his legs firmly to prepare for your weight on him. You climb up to balance across his thighs, squeeze his hips with your knees to keep your body steady. He's so warm, his muscles firm under your shins and between your knees.

    Smoothing your hands up your sides, you slip your fingers under the hem of the crop top, slip it up over your breasts. The diamond patterns it leaves in your skin catch Dorghu's eyes, and he murmurs to you in Bodzvokhan again.

    "Hey, you know I can't understand you," you say, covering your tits with your hands to get his attention.    

    "Just more of the same," he groans at the interruption. "You're gorgeous."

    "Say it again, let me hear it properly, translate."

    The way he speaks his first language, low and gutteral, and his eyes lingering on your face before he looks back down at your body with that coarse longing - you almost don't care what he's saying, as long as he's doing it like that, making you ache deep inside. He is indeed telling you you're gorgeous, that you make him want more, and you wonder how unaware he really is that he makes you feel the same.

    Gripping his shoulders, you sit yourself up, press your hips against his belly, letting your knees slide further apart around his sides. His breathing is deep, the heaving of his chest taking you along with it. You arch your chest towards his face, deviously close, humid breaths from his flared nostrils hot on your flushed skin. He's growling, the vibrations strong in his chest, rumbling right into your bones. You want more than this too, you want his tongue wetting you, his nose pressed to your sternum and his tusks gently grazing your skin as he pulls you tight to him, thick fingers kneading your soft flesh. Fuck, you can't make the thoughts stop, but you can sure use them; you keep pressing your hips into him harder, grinding your scent into his shirt, touching and squeezing your own breasts, leaving him to watch you and feel you please yourself. You close your eyes, try to enjoy the moment a little as he groans his approval, sings your praises in Bodzvokhan.

    He falls silent, and you get a shock as his hands grasp your elbows, and he holds you away from him.

    "What the fuck," you gasp, wide-eyed, but he's not paying any attention to you.

    Dorghu's staring at the curtain to the booth, body tense, his good ear flicking at sounds you don't hear yet. Then there's a rising din, the sharp ring of glass breaking, shouting. With one arm he scoops you up and tosses you to the bench seat beside him, and he's quickly on his feet, stomping right over the table to the curtain.

    "Stay here," he tells you, storming out before you can protest.

    You wait, staring at the curtain, listening to the receding sound of his footfalls. Clutching yourself anxiously, listening to the rising voices, you catch no words in English other than a few curses. The music is too loud to string anything together.

    Then you think you hear Anya's voice crying out. She sounds like she's in pain and scared, you think she's shouting at someone to let go. There's no way you're staying here. You snatch up your shorts and shove yourself into them quickly, pulling your clothes back into the most manageable state you can as you go. Stalking out of the booth, you find there's a standoff in front of the bar. Dorghu has his arms out, trying to reason with them, and the bouncers are circling, waiting.

    The youngest of the half-orcs is on one side by the bar with Anatoly, being held back as he shouts across the floor. A couple other orcs have come to stand at their sides, snarling.

    The other side of the standoff are some unfamiliar orc males. One of them at the front has Anya with her arm twisted behind her back, and a hand around her throat pulling her close. You feel your blood boil.

    "Hey, asshole, let her go!" you shout, stomping your way up behind Dorghu. He leaps in front of you, arm outstretched.

    "Stay back," he growls over his shoulder to you. The orcs in the group jeer and laugh. All you can do is seethe, your fists clenched tight at your sides, watching the scene unfold around Dorghu's shoulders.

    "You're not welcome here if you can't behave yourself," Dorghu tells the strangers. "Leave now and we don't have to make it an issue."

    "We were going to, your fucking half-breed pet over there wants to get in my way," he spits at the Russians. Anya can't move in the larger orc's grasp, but she keeps arguing and pleading to him in Bodzvokhan. He shakes her violently, snarls something at her that makes her quiet.

    The half-orc strains against Anatoly's grip on his bicep.

    "Vic, don't," Anatoly hisses to him.

    "Doesn't look like she wants to go with you," Dorghu says, keeping his voice even. "Let go, and walk out, there doesn't need to be trouble."

   The strangers are amped, and you think some of them might have weapons, behind their backs or tucked in sleeves judging by the way they are moving. They can see the bouncers, huge ogres just itching for anybody to give a good reason to go in there and make them kiss the floor, so they just stand there, restless and posturing.    

    "She stinks like the filth you let in here," the orc holding Anya captive spits. "Gotta fix that, right baby?"

    Vic curses at him in Russian. The goons on the other side laugh.

    "Funny mutt!" one of them crows. "Thinks he's gonna make puppies with this one!"

    "Come on, baby, you and me go make a real orc," the creep says, pulling her face closer to him.

    She lets out a roar and headbutts him with all she's got.

    The room erupts - as the guy loses his grip and Anya dives for the floor, Vic breaks out of Anatoly's hold and comes lunging for the creep, wild-eyed and yelling. The goons make to get in the way, a few bystanders get in on Vic's side, everybody throwing haymakers, and then the bouncers are in there hauling people back, tossing a couple huge orcs to the floor like its nothing.

    Ducking around Dorghu, you get to the ground and grab hold of Anya, trying to drag her out before anybody falls on either of you. You manage to pull her to you, but its hard to get out of there - the fight is on all sides now. It's chaos, and you're surrounded and getting knocked about by much larger bodies, all swinging fists and makeshift weapons from debris around them.  

    There's suddenly a body over you, putting big arms around the two of you, and you're ready to start thrashing and fighting, but it's Dorghu. He puts a hand on your shoulder to calm you, before he starts to pick you both up, drag you to safety. Another orc appears above him, raining blows with a beer bottle over his back. Dorghu ducks his head, covering you and Anya with his body, puts his hand on your head to turn your face down to his chest and out of the path of the swinging bottle.

    "Stay down, hang onto each other, I'll get you out," he's grunting to you. You and Anya clutch each other tight.

    Dorghu waits for an opening in the other orc's wild swinging, then gets up with a roar, exploding from the floor to an uppercut. The orc on the receiving end appears to come off the floor before he falls flat back - you think he might be unconscious. One of his friends takes a shot at Dorghu now, but not before Dorghu rushes, grabs you by the ankle, and gives you a hard yank, sending you sliding across the floor away from the bar with Anya in your arms.

    You duck your head against Anya's shoulder as you slide, clattering into some empty chairs that tip over around you. It's easy to hear Dorghu roaring over the din, but you don't see whether any blows land on him from the new challenger. When you've come to a full stop and the chairs stop falling, you look up again - the bouncers have backed everyone out of the space, and Dorghu is leaning against the bar, catching his breath. The orc who had stepped up for his unconscious friend is being half-carried by one of the bouncers, his legs not holding him up.

    Vic and the creeper orc are last on the floor, grappling. An ogre stands poised to intervene, but Dorghu waves him back a moment. Vic manages to get the upper hand, starts hammering the guy in the face over and over. The guy's arms eventually go limp, and Dorghu nods to the bouncer. The great ogre has to haul Vic up to stop him, blood all over his knuckles and the creep's face barely recognizable.

    The instigators are all lined up, in various degrees of incapacitation, at the side of the room, and the bouncers take them out of the hall through the back door, some carrying two at a time. Onlookers are milling about, most trying to leave. Anatoly gets the bartenders to start passing him ice, hands some to Dorghu to press to his face. Dorghu catches him by the shoulder, and Anatoly nods at his instructions.

    "Party's over, everybody get the fuck out!" he yells. There's a few groans from the patrons, but you hear more than a few relieved sighs as everyone heads for the exit, and you hear the sharp clicks of high heels headed for the change rooms.

   "You alright?" you ask Anya, looking her over. She nods to you, rubbing at the arm the creep had twisted.

    "You?" she asks, starting to get up.

    "Of course," you say as you put your feet under you, and then you realize your ankle isn't holding steady. You drop your butt back to the floor. "Nope, nevermind."

    Anya starts to try to help you up. There are thundering footsteps and Dorghu arrives, hits the floor on his knee at your side.

    "What happened, what's wrong?" he says, voice gruff and urgent.

    "I don't know, it's my ankle," you say. His face falls a little.

    "Shit. Give me your arm."

    The two of them haul you up onto your good leg, and with one arm over Anya's shoulders and the other in Dorghu's firm grip, you manage to get to a booth. They sit you down on the end.

    Dorghu kneels in front of you while you're getting your boot off to have a look. There's nothing obviously wrong with your ankle, but you touch it and its tender - Dorghu must have bruised you when he dragged you out of the fight. You'll likely start to see it soon.

    He tries to offer you the ice Anatoly had given him, but you look at it and notice its a little pink. You jump, and lean in quickly to get a look at him, surprising him a little. His face is split open over his unscarred cheekbone.

   "Jesus, Dorghu," you blurt, and you grasp his chin gently, without thinking, turning him towards you. It's a smallish split, the skin giving out under the impact of a fist or something. You prod gently around the wound for swelling or splinters.

   "It's nothing," he winces. You pull your hands back. Your cheeks flush, at the realization that you'd touched him so recklessly, never mind that he's injured, and Dorghu gives you a look. "It's okay, thank you."

    "Anatoly! First aid kit, please," Anya calls out. Anatoly gets behind the bar, grabs a bottle of vodka and starts to make his way over - the bartender stops him, takes the vodka back with irritation, hands him an actual first aid kit. Anatoly shrugs as the bartender walks away, tucks the kit under an arm, and grabs a bottle of whiskey on his way out from behind the bar.

    You slide back in the booth, motion for Dorghu to sit. He hesitates, but he gets off the floor, slides his bulk into the booth beside you. Anatoly drops the first aid kit on the table, cracks the bottle of whiskey open for Dorghu. You start rummaging through the kit for alcohol swabs and bandages.

    Vic limps up beside Anya, and she claps her hands to her face at the sight of his bloody mouth. You toss her some gauze and cleaning pads, and she nods her thanks. She helps him get to another seat not far away, you can hear him speaking gentle Russian to her, her soothing in Bodzvokhan as they leave. You notice he keeps touching her, she keeps leaning into it, gently and carefully helping him clean up. They'd obviously abandoned the rules a little while ago, and you can't help feeling a little envious that you hadn't managed to get the courage.  
  
    Dorghu takes a huge swig of the whiskey from the bottle.  
  
    "That's enough of that," you tell him, ripping open one of the alcohol wipes. "You're bleeding."  
  
    "You couldn't even walk, just now." He looks apologetic all of a sudden. "I'm sorry, I should have been more careful."  
  
    "It's a bruise and a mild sprain, it just needs time. This needs cleaning, don't know where anybody in that fight has been."  
  
     Taking a small breath, you gently place your hand on his chin, turn his face to you. The alcohol makes him wince as you start dabbing gently at the split in his cheek, but he clenches his jaw steady as you continue. You can feel his muscles working, the way his teeth set. He watches your face while you're working, and you try to focus on just the wound, keep yourself from getting nervous.  
      
    "I don't need you to do this for me," he grunts. The way he looks at you, like the first time - there's something behind it again, behind the rough and tough, and the power. He's not being a hard-ass, he's being thoughtful and considerate, the dumb fuck.  
  
     "I know," you murmur, a little annoyed and embarrassed. You like this, the chance for a little kindness. "I'd rather be doing this than running away, though."

    You get the small bandage out of the wrapper, apply it gently across his cheekbone. His skin is so smooth here, it's almost a surprise when you accidentally brush eyelashes with your knuckles. His ear twitches at the contact. The bandage applied, you take your hands away reluctantly.

    "There."

   He turns to look at you. His eyes are softened, he looks tired, but he's still considering your features with warmth. He licks his lips carefully once more.

    "Thanks, peach," he says. "You can go home now if you'd like, or maybe go get your ankle checked out. I'll help you get to a cab."  
  
    "Oh," you sigh. "Of course."

    Then, of course, it occurs to you...

    "So I'm off the clock?"

    He takes another swig of the whiskey, grimacing.

    "Yes. I'll still get Anatoly to pay you the full fee, since it wasn't -"

    "Dorghu."

    "What?"

   You climb into his lap, press yourself into his chest, squeeze with your legs on either side of his hips. This time, you hold his face between your palms, bring your face right up close. He's looking up at you in surprise, amber eyes flickering over your face as you stare back. Your breathing is coming fast and shallow, everything you felt over the course of the night heightened at the challenge you just issued.

   The understanding washing over his face is followed quickly by desire, and you hear him drop the bottle on the table behind you before you feel his wide hands on your back. He wraps his thick arms right around you, pulls you tight to his belly, gripping at your hip and shoulder. He's warm, breathing heavy, a low growl building in his throat.

   "You want this?" he purrs, digging his fingers in just a little. Its exquisite, the firm grip, the heat of his skin on yours, the calluses on his hands rough on your back.

    "I want more," you breathe, bringing your arms around the back of his neck. You kiss him, planting your lips firmly on his lower lip between those massive tusks. It's hard not to let go, just start licking and sucking at his mouth, but you have to pull yourself away to speak. "Get me out of here."

    He squeezes his arm a little tighter around your waist, brings one hand under one of your thighs to steady you, as he moves toward the end of the bench. With a soft grunt he gets up with you in his arms, his hands gripping tight. You hang on to his shoulders, press your forehead to the scarred side of his face so he can see around you. The way his body moves as he starts walking is overwhelming, the twist of his hips under your thighs, the very minimal effort it seems to require for him to hold you up.

    Anatoly rolls his eyes as the two of you pass him.

    "Oh! Who could have forseen!" he bellows. The bartender leans over and gives him a smack.


	5. Chapter 5

    Dorghu takes you out into the hall, up a flight of stairs. You make only brief note of where you're traveling through as he carries you. The old stone walls of the church are quite a contrast to the newly constructed addition Dorghu's venue was in.  The halls of this place are unfamiliar, but there's a comfort to them. There are candles and minimal electric lights casting a glow over the place.

    Dorghu is carrying you steadily, but he can't keep his hands from touching, kneading, digging into your soft body. You stifle a moan in his shoulder when he squeezes your backside and his fingers are almost in your shorts. The way his gait falters just a little at your sound makes you think he might just push you against a wall and have you right there, but he continues, just a little quicker.

    At the end of one hall, he pushes open a door with his foot, carries you into a darkened room, only a little moonlight streaming in through a slit window in the far wall. He kicks the door closed behind himself, and carries you further inside.

    Dorghu takes your arms from around his neck, and with a quick jerk of his hands on your hips, he gives you a shove backwards off him. You yelp as you go flying, but its a short fall, and you sink into pillows and downy blankets, giggling at the sudden startle and relief.

    At the end of the bed you hear him fumbling with his belt. You look up, and he's only half-cast in the moonlight, his eyes reflective in the shadow over his face. They're fixed on you, full of his intent. Your heart pounds. He leaves his jeans on the floor, and comes climbing over you, timber creaking as the bed takes his weight, until his gaze is level with yours.

    For a moment he pauses, just looking down at you between his hands on the bed, studying your face. His breath is sweet on your skin. Tentatively you bring a hand up to him, trace his jaw with your fingertips. He closes his eyes at your touch, and you bring your whole palm to his cheek, careful of the wound near his eye.

    "I need to know - what's your name, peach?" he asks you softly, opening his eyes to look at you again.

    You beckon him toward you, and he gets on his elbows so you can pull his head down to whisper your real name in his ear. It twitches at your soft murmurs, and he growls softly, pushing his face to your neck. He inhales deeply. Fuck, that feels good, to have him breathe you in like that. You abandon all pretense and let a shudder fully move you as a soft moan rises in your throat. Slowly you bring your hands to his chest, feeling the thick muscles under his shirt.

    "I thought you were playing with me this whole time, just enjoying yourself a little too much," he growls in your ear. "That scent, though-"

    Dorghu strokes a hand up your inner thigh, presses his palm against you through your shorts, making you gasp.

    "-that's for me, isn't it?"

    You start to lift your hips and press back into his hand, but he doesn't keep it there, dragging it up your belly instead. He starts toying with the edge of your crop top.

    "I'm not the only one who could've been speaking up a little more," he continues. He lifts his face from your neck with a wicked grin.

    "Give me a break, I'm a professional," you huff. Dorghu grabs your wrists from his chest with one hand, holds them to the bed above you. He settles his weight down between your thighs.

    "Not right now, you're not," he growls. "Tell me, peach, what you been thinking about me?"

    You squirm under him, wrists held tight, your legs pressed wide by the girth of his hips, and you feel him, hard in his underwear and throbbing against the narrow gusset of your shorts. You whine as he pulls back, unhappy with your silence.

    "I can't tell you, it's too much," you groan. He growls your name.

    "I need to know where your lovely ideas were coming from. You were in my lap, when I first caught your scent - what was it then?"

    You're breathing heavy, you wish he would just let up and let you move, give you some relief for the heat between your thighs, the aching in your core. He's looking at you, the fire in his eyes like he's going to consume you, like he's also aching of hunger.

    "That. The way you look at me," you sigh, returning his gaze, and he purrs, grin widening.

    "Then what?"

    "Then... then when you..."

    "Yes?" he encourages, settling his weight back into your hips, letting you feel the pressure of his hard cock again. You try to wrap your legs around him but of course the best you can do is hook your ankles around his thighs.

    "When I got in your lap, y-you licked... licked your lips," you moan. "I thought about kissing you then."

    Dorghu brings his free hand to your face, draws the pad of his thumb across your lips. He presses his forehead to yours, and hums with pleasure.

    "When you kissed me downstairs, that wasn't the way you pictured it, was it?"

    "No," you laugh breathily.

    "Do it like you pictured, then," he whispers, bringing his face closer to yours.

    You do, kissing so soft it tickles, darting your tongue out ever so slightly to taste his lips. He tries to come closer, and you duck your chin and press his forehead back with yours. When he backs off you bring your lips to brush his again. He groans every time you touch him so carefully, caressing you with his free hand, and he presses his hips into yours hard when you escape deeper kisses. You turn ever so slightly to let your lips brush over one tusk, smooth and cool to the touch, the point scratching at your top lip. He stops moving, lets you do this without fear of a wound, breathing gently.

    When you turn back to teasing his lips, he growls and brings his free hand back to your face abruptly, capturing you by your jaw and holding you still so he can finally kiss your whole mouth. He presses a needy tongue in between your lips, tusks digging into your cheeks. A coarse moan rises from the back of your throat. When he parts for air finally, you writhe beneath him in a languid stretch, arching your back and sighing happily, curling your toes on the backs of his legs.

    "That was exactly it," you murmur.

    "Good," he breathes. "Cruel to me, like you were all night, but good."

    You laugh, until Dorghu gives you another hard jerk of his hips into yours.

    "Be nice to me now, peach," he chuckles when you gasp. "What happened next?"

    "You... you sniffed me? My back..."

    "You like that, huh?" He presses his face to your temple, with his nose in your hair, and inhales deeply, before moving to your neck and doing the same. "I like the scent of you, my peach."

    "Say my name," you moan. He does, whispering it into the delicate skin under your jaw, telling you again in Bodzvokhan you're gorgeous, beautiful, that you make him want and want and want. You're quivering under him, his grip no less firm on your wrists above you.     You give a little twist of your arms in his grasp.

    "Is this revenge for the rule?"

    "Not revenge," he chuckles. "Compensation... I wanted you to feel it. It's good."

    It is good. Your body is a taut line from hips to fingertips, pinned at each by his weight. You want very much to break your hands free, touch him everywhere, claw his body down toward yours, but even not touching him is full of sensation - the stretch in your belly as you squirm against his hold on you, the shifting of the net top over your chest, the exquisite pressure of his hips against your thighs. He's so close, the heat of his body radiating into you. To think that he had managed to endure this pleasure without restraints...

    He's watching you with utter glee, licking his sharp teeth. He places his hand on your belly, pressing with his thumb up your center line to the hem of the mesh, starts to lift it.

    "No," you gasp, jerking under his hand. He stops and looks up at you, concerned. "No, I want... I want you to tear it."

    Pleasant surprise flashes in his eyes, and he chuckles deeply, coming to rest his forehead against yours. He growls to you in Bodzvokhan, unfamiliar words, but translates before you ask.

    "Sweet wicked thing," he mutters. He turns to your cheek, kisses you softly before licking a line along your jaw. "That's rotten, I can't believe you. But if that's how you want me..."

    His free hand starts to twist in the mesh shirt, and you can hear threads popping as he breaks his fingers through. Low rumbling in his throat vibrates through your chest. He kisses down to your shoulder, and you can feel his ear flick against your cheek, his cock twitching in his underwear.

    His tongue is teasing at your neck and collarbones at the edge of the crop top. The smooth sides of his tusks brush your skin as he drags himself lower, kissing and licking you through the netting. He settles with his belly over your hips, his soft sides letting you bring your thighs a little closer around him.

    His tongue finds your nipple and you draw in a sharp breath, moaning as he teases it mercilessly. He caresses your other breast with his hand still tangled through the net. Carefully, he bites at you, the points of his smaller teeth little pricks of pleasure in your nipple. Then he drags a tusk over your skin, catching it in the mesh.

    "Fuck, Dorghu, you couldn't read my mind the whole time, could you?"

    He gives you a smouldering look, yellow eyes glowing in the dark, before he twists his face into the top, catching more threads between his teeth, and starts to pull at it with a snarl. Threads pop in rapid succession and the crop top splits wide open as he pulls, leaving just the stable edges of the hem and collar intact above and below your breasts.

    Dorghu takes a moment to admire his work, grinning at you as you squirm under him. Then he bends down and drags his thick, hot tongue lazily over your now freed breasts, leaving cool trails behind. You moan and sigh in satisfaction, and his torn ear twitches ever so slightly at your sounds.

    It's close enough you can tilt your head up and kiss it ever so gently on the ragged edge. Dorghu rumbles pleasantly at the touch. You lick up from earlobe to the tear in the cartilage, then nibble the point of his ear, drawing a growl from him.

    You kiss across his ear to his temple, and he turns up briefly to let you continue kissing down the scars on his cheek, to his mouth, catching his lip gently in your teeth. It's enough to pull him toward you, and he kisses you deeply, growling into your mouth, before he turns back to kissing your body, nuzzling into the soft undersides of your breasts and nipping at your skin with his teeth. The scars on his face are rough, dragging across you as he moves. He loosens his grip on your wrists, bringing both hands down to squeeze your tits as he sucks them.

    Hands finally free, you quickly begin to claw at his shirt, pulling it up to expose his smooth skin, flush with heat and becoming dewy with sweat. Dorghu is stubborn in his current fixation, but you pull the shirt over his head, so he finally backs himself up and helps you get it off. As he leans back over you, there's just enough light to see the scars continuing down his chest, diagonal jagged lines in his otherwise smooth skin. You trace the toughened welts with your fingertips.

    "You like that?" he purrs. "You like your scary orc with the battle scars?"

    "My scary orc?" You quirk your brow at him, corner of your mouth twitching. "Your peach?"

    "For tonight, at the very least," he growls. His skin is hot as he lets his weight carefully down onto you, his chest against yours as he kisses you eagerly, more recklessly than before.

    You moan into his mouth and pull him tighter to you as his tusks press haphazardly against your face, angling to get his tongue better access to taste you. When you slip your own tongue out to reciprocate, he captures it with a snarl, chuckling as you jump under the sudden pricking of his teeth. He lets you go and bites at your swelling lips.

    He moves down to your neck again. You tilt your head back, baring your throat, and he runs his tongue and his tusks down your jugular. The points gently rake your soft skin. You knead your hands over his broad back briefly, but he jerks under your touch - looking over his shoulder you can see the scattered half-moon bruises from the bottle in the fight downstairs.

    "Sorry," you whisper in his ear, wrapping your arms around his neck instead.

    "It's good, peach, I'm good," he whispers back with a chuckle. "Rough me up a little. I'm the big bad orc tearing your clothes off, get me as good as I give."

    It's a tempting invitation, but you don't return your hands to his back just yet. You knead at the back of his neck, across the tops of his muscular shoulders. Playfully you tug on his good ear, making him growl and he turns and nudges your wrist with his tusks, nips at the delicate skin there. You draw that hand down to trace your fingers across his mouth, and he kisses them, licks between them, captures one gently in his teeth, making you shiver. His eyes flash with heat when he feels your vibrations under him, licking slowly between your fingers again.

    "Do it," you say, meeting his gaze. "Do what you're thinking."

    Grinning, he pushes himself off you, sits up between your legs and flips you around onto your belly. Hanging on to your hips, he moves back, dragging you to the end of the bed.

    "Get on your knees, take your shorts off, like you did before," he commands, stepping back.

    You're more than happy to obey, getting your knees under you and popping your button. You twist yourself to look back at him. He's cast in shadow again, his eyes gleaming from the dark, watching you. The skin of his thick abdomen swelling out above his briefs is beautiful in the moonlight, dappled shades of blue and grey.

    You ease the shorts over your backside, down your thighs, shift your knees out of them. Dorghu's full attention is on you, watching your hands move over your own skin. You let the shorts fall on the floor at Dorghu's feet, and he comes closer. Your legs tremble in anticipation.

    He surprises you by getting down to kneel on the floor. You feel his hands caress up your thighs to your buttocks, kneading them briefly, then coming down to pull your knees over the edge of the bed, lowering your hips to the mattress. He sits back on his heels, and you watch him considering your legs and your ass with immense pleasure. His tongue darts between his lips as he brings his hands over your flesh to tease at your aching cunt.

    You whine as he presses a thumb gently against your lips through the fabric of your thong, teasing into the valley between them, your juices soaking in. His other hand grips your hip, holding you still.

    "You're a juicy little peach," he chuckles, taking his thumb away and licking it thoroughly. His eyes close in bliss as he tastes you on him. Then he drags both hands up your hips, under the waistband of your panties, and rakes them back down, hooking the underwear with his thumbs as he goes - his fingers dig hot trails all the way down your legs dangling off the edge of the bed, making your toes curl.

    The panties off you, he eagerly slips his muscular arms under your thighs, up to his shoulders. He buries his face into you, wasting no time pressing his tongue into your slick folds. A loud moan escapes you, and you try to squirm and buck your hips at the sudden contact. You're held firm, thighs braced across his biceps, his hands pressing into your low back, and you're grateful for the restriction as you feel the points of his tusks nestled in the crease of your thighs.

    Dorghu is relentless, pressing into every fold and crease, the blade of his tongue finding your clit easily. He's eating you like he's starving. Every nerve is singing, your toes curled and heels pulled tight toward your backside. With each sound you make, every gasp and whine, his fingers press and squeeze into your back, and he growls, his deep voice vibrating through you. You're helpless to his merciless feasting, left to twist your hands into the bedding, crying out his name. You're the wettest you've ever been, his hot tongue working your entrance and slicking the whole length of your lips.

    The aching and the heat is spreading as you build toward climax, but he pulls away. It's almost a relief, the intensity letting up, but you cry out in protest at the loss of his warmth, twisting around to look at him. He's wiping his chin, licking you off his lips and his fingers, and grins when he catches your look of utter betrayal.

    "I'm nowhere near done with you, woman," he chuckles, getting to his feet.

    He takes his underwear off, and you start to turn over to get a look, but he stops you with a broad hand on your ass, pressing your hips into the bed. He laughs when you squirm and groan with frustration.

    "Don't worry, peach, I won't let you go without seeing. I've just got other ideas for you at the moment."

    "Fine," you pout, but when you turn away you're grinning.

    Dorghu steps up against your backside, and you feel him take hold of your hips, laying his hot shaft along your crack. It throbs as he drags it down your skin, down to tease at your lips with the head, and you tremble with anticipation. He takes one hand and slicks his fingers in your juices, making you moan. He coats his cock with you, bringing his hand back to repeat several times, before he starts to ease the head in, spreading you gently with his thumbs.

    It's a tight fit, but he goes slowly - the burn of him stretching you passes easily with his careful attention, replaced by a perfect ache, and the heat of him. The head of his cock has a well-defined ridge that presses deliciously into your walls as it goes. A long moan stretches out of you, breaking up in shuddering gasps as you feel him sink completely into your depths.

    He lets you acclimate, bending slowly to kiss your shoulders, and growls to you in Bodzvokhan. Sweet wicked thing. You feel his hand come up your back, fingertips dragging up your neck into your hair, massaging your scalp. Then he jerks a fistful of your hair up, pulling you back towards him.

    "How about this, peach?" he snarls in your ear. "You want me like this too?"

    "Oh, you fucking bastard," you gasp, hands clamouring for purchase on the bedclothes as he pulls you toward him, your back arched and throat stretched. "I think I fucking do."

    Dorghu pulls back, easing out of you slowly, and with a grunt slams himself in to the hilt again. Your gut aches with pleasure at the sudden impact to your walls, making you gasp, and you feel his balls slap into your clit. He brings his arm around you, and supports your chest with his broad hand as he begins to fuck you.

    At first you cry out with every thrust, but he establishes a rhythm and your soaked cunt provides, friction lessening and pressure taking over. Your hoarse cries give way to moans He angles downward and into your g-spot, the feverish aching waves returning and spreading again through your body. He grunts to you in Bodzvokhan as he pounds against you, hips slapping into your ass, your thighs pressed hard into the edge of the bed under his weight.

    "Fuck, Dorghu, I'm gonna-" you choke out just as your core explodes, spilling heat out through your thighs, up into your head, making you see stars.

    He rides you out over your orgasm, keeping his rhythm steady so you don't lose the wave. You let out a last gasp and go limp, and he finally stops, letting go of your hair and easing you down to your belly gently. He pulls his wet cock from you, still hard.

    "Alright, peach?"

    You nod, unable to do more than grunt softly into the blankets, breathing heavy. Rough fingertips caress you gently, pushing hair off your damp forehead, and kisses are pressed to your temple, your cheek, your neck, your shoulder. You want to respond, you really do, but you're buzzing, spent. He just keeps kissing you, touching you, his still-hard cock nudging into your thighs as he bends over your back. You close your eyes, enjoying the massaging strokes across your back, the wet of his lips.

    When he's finished lavishing your skin with attention, Dorghu rolls you over and pushes you up in the bed, climbing up after you and moving between your legs. You roll your eyes open and look down at him as he sits up, lifting your hips to his lap.

    "Take a look now," he grins, laying his shaft against your pussy.

    In the cool dim light his cock is a deep dark blue, slightly dappled with lighter shades. The size is much greater than you had suspected even with him stretching you the way he had - you wonder if you would have balked at the idea of him inside you if you'd seen it first.

    "You should be proud," he says. "Not many humans take it as well as you do the first go around... You been with an orc before?"

    You shake your head, and you think you see a brief flash of smug pride in his face.  
  
    Slowly you reach down to touch his cock, and it's still wet but starting to feel sticky from your juices. You feel yourself responding again, even in your current state, from the heat and the pulsation of him laid across your clit, the way it twitches under your fingers. He gasps softly as you stroke down the length of it with your fingertips. He's definitely still ready to go, and you can't help but want to see him come undone in you.

    "Come on," you say, squeezing your legs around him. "Lets go again."

    "I don't think so peach," he replies.

    He reaches back to where your injured ankle is tucked around his waist, gently caressing it. The bruise has developed much more, sensitive even to this light touch, and you draw in a breath. He flinches away from touching you, grimacing.

    "I did that to you just by grabbing on."

    "It's fine," you assure him. He returns his hands to your thighs, massaging gently. "I want more, I want you in me again. I want to feel you come."

    Dorghu lets out a shuddering breath, his grip on your thighs slowly tightening. His eyes burn into yours.

    "I want that too, peach."

    "Trade places with me," you say, slowly getting yourself up, muscles trembling.

    He gets on his back for you, helps you straddle him, lifting your hips when your lets won't hold you. The weight of you is nothing, even as you support yourself with your hands on his chest. He's watching you intently, keeping an eye out for your pain.

     "Just promise you'll let me know if it gets to be too much."

    You nod.

     "Promise."

    Moving one hand to support your bottom, he reaches the other down to position himself between your lips. Slowly, he lets you down to envelop him, your sensitive swollen tissue resisting only a little more than before. Once you're fully around him, he pulls you down to him, kissing and scenting your neck, caressing you everywhere slowly. His cock twitches inside you and you flex back, drawing a growl from him.

    Gripping your hips, he drags you up the length of him, then pulls you back down with a grunt, snapping his hips to meet you. A cry escapes you and he pauses a moment, only moving again when you begin to rock your hips against him. You can't bounce with your fatigued legs, but the grinding draws a low moan out of him, and he begins to thrust up into you as you fuck him.

    "More," you breathe. His thrusts slowly build speed and power, and you dig your nails into his chest.

    "Fuck my skin up, peach, I want it," he moans. "Mark me up good."

    Testing, you rake one hand down his belly, catching on bands of scar tissue as you go. He draws in a hissing breath, snarling and throwing his head back. He bares his teeth at you.

    "More," he growls. You give him both hands then, drawing more moans and snarls from him.

    Your pace quickens, his thrusts becoming erratic as you continue gouging his flesh. The pressure from his fingertips is beginning to hurt as his grip on your hips tightens. His voice further spurs you on as he snarls in Bodzvokhan, strings of coarse and unfamiliar words. It's easy enough to understand his meaning, the urgent bucking and the way his hands pull you further in your movements. You drop down for a kiss, biting at his lip, licking along his jaw.

    "Come for me," you gasp into his ear.

    "I want to, I'm going to," he grunts, pressing teeth to your neck. He moans your name as you clench your muscles around him. "You make it so easy."

    More Bodzvokhan stammers out of him as he takes his last frantic thrusts into you before his face contorts in delicious agony. His load spills up into you in waves, every muscle in his huge body taut under you as you ride him. Strangled moans rip through him and you watch, unable to contain your pride as he arcs under you, mouth open, chest heaving with every sound. The pulsing inside you ebbs out into smooth heat as his cum fills you, starting to spill out even around the tight seal his thick cock makes.

    As he finally drops his weight back onto the bed he releases your hips, and pulls you to him by your shoulders, folding you in his arms with your head on his chest.

    "Fuck. You okay peach?" he gasps. You chuckle.

    "I'm great. Are you okay?"

    His response is a low, stuttering purr of mirth and pleasure as he wraps you tighter in his arms, kissing and nuzzling your hair.

    "That good, huh?"

    "Mhm," he sighs. "Worth the torture you put me through all night."

    "Hm, so you're saying I should do more of that?" you chuckle.

    He growls, lifting your chin to press a possessive kiss to your mouth.

    "Never tease me like that again."


End file.
